THE SURPRISE OF MONTROSE. BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, ESQ. ON a summer's eve, in a year which tradition places between 1645 and 1650, an old man, a shepherd, and one of the subscribers of that Covenant which shook the throne of the Stuarts, had retired from his household circle, to pour out his soul, as he said, in prayer, and tell his Maker a piece of his mind anent the work which was going on in the church, south as well as north. For a spot to kneel in, he had gone no farther than the hawthorn and bower-tree hedge of his own kaleyard; nor had he made much personal preparation for this act of devotion: his dress was homely, and of the kind called hodden-gray; his hands were stained with the mingled tar and oil, which he had that day been using in the surgery of his sheep. For this humble spot for prayer, and his coarse and homely attire, he had reasons ready. "He to whom I kneel," said he, "is every where present, and the back of a dry stone dyke is as much his temple as a carved cathedral: and have not these clothes been made from the fleeces of the six-score ewes, which were given to me as a spoil when we harried the wicked town of Hexham ? for we did not spare Amalek." The old man, before he dropped on his knees, looked towards the north, and said- "These streamers are more than usually bright to-night: we'll have commotions among those godless clans; and there is an uncommon redness in the south-I doubt if all will be settled there without blood." When on his knees, he first thought of his own peculiar, as he called it, and then spared a few words in the cause of his country: his address to Heaven was in the familiar spirit of the times. "First," said he, "I commend to thy care these six-score silly sheep, of the Cheviot breed, which I accepted as a spoil when we retired from the south, after having built up thy sanctuary with waled stones, polished pillars, and rafters of Shittimwood; wilt thou for thy servant's eyes cannot be always on the watch them from the preserve bloody fox of the hills, and the roaring lioness of the mountains, that they may grow, and increase, and become as a sign and a witter to the wicked to touch them not, for they are thine! And, moreover, if it be thy will, and for thy glory, let the fleeces which cover them grow fine as well as abundant, and be coveted of far lands at a high price no for ony gude that it can do to me, but that men may know that thou art with thy saints and with their substance. But, O! what cry is this which I hear in the land? what is this rumour which has astounded mine ears? Thou hast permitted the man Oliver Cromwell to rise in the place of the man Charles Stuart, and set his iron heel on the neck of thy saints, scatter to the winds the goodly fabric which we have reared in the south, and stable his steeds in the consecrated places: and now it is said that, with his profane Independents, he is on his way to the north, to pull down the polished pillars of Presbytery, and establish his own church, which hath neither walls, nor roof, nor floor, nor foundation, in its place. O! do thou-for the breath of thy nostrils can accomplish it confound this man Cromwell, and bring him and his designs to shame! it is for thine own glory rather than mine that I ask it!" Farther expostulation with Heaven was interrupted by what at first sounded in his ears like the breeze in the hollow banks of the neighbouring brook, but which his military experience soon told him was the thick beating clang of a troop of cavalry approaching at a rapid trot. The old Covenanter looked up without altering his posture, and perceived, sweeping round his little garden enclosure, the glittering breastplates and the dancing plumes of a party of horse. The leader, or commander, halted his men, touched the old shepherd with his sword, and said—" Arise from thy knees, Gedaliah”—in those days, Old Testament names had taken the place of Peter, James, and Johnand come with me." |